The three fought as they moved, shattering mountain rocks, scattering white clouds, and sending spring water flying in torrents along the way. The battle was incomparably fierce.
The longer Meng Zhao fought, the braver he became. Now transformed into a True Dragon Dharma Form, purple flames streaked across the sky and divine radiance shone like a wheel. His flesh and blood seemed to undergo some kind of transformation and leap, truly changing him from a man into a True Dragon of prominent talent, roaring proudly between heaven and earth. In that moment, I was the dragon, and the dragon was me. His spiritual essence completely fused with the Way of the Dragon.
A dragon's roar, the very pinnacle of lifelike expression, shook the nine heavens above and stirred the Yellow Springs below. It contained boundless divine might, as though it had traveled from the distant ancient past, pouring into the ears, piercing the soul, and crushing Red Lotus Monk and the Black Robe Dharma King until they could scarcely breathe.
Red Lotus Dharma King was one thing; his martial arts were not purely forceful and unyielding, still retaining several traces of suppleness and adaptability.
But the Black Robe Dharma King was different. The Asura Path was a path of battle and slaughter. With Killing Aura and Killing Intent so abundant, he could be called a figure on the level of a killing god—sharp, fierce, and unbending, preferring to break rather than bend. Now, his mind, will, and even Martial Dao Divine Charm were suppressed by the True Dragon's chant. The pressure he endured was unprecedented. Blood nearly seeped from his pitch-black eyes, while his four-armed Asura Dharma Form showed faint signs of cracking and collapsing.
At this point, no matter how unwilling they were to admit it, the two had